


fucking mess me up and shit (the masochism tango)

by minettahs_nomore



Series: old works [1]
Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: M/M, Unsafe Sex, set after last week's smackdown, seth probably caught something from dean tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-06
Updated: 2016-10-06
Packaged: 2018-04-25 02:06:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4942549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minettahs_nomore/pseuds/minettahs_nomore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seth can't stand it. He lost. To Ambrose. To street trash. Seth is- he's better than this (we're the same side of one coin. You and I, forever. Destiny. Fuck, fuck, fuck).</p>
            </blockquote>





	fucking mess me up and shit (the masochism tango)

Seth lost. He's the champ, he's the fucking man, he's the future, and he  _lost._ To Dean- to Ambrose. 

Seth has everything. The belt, he's got the corporate support, he's got fans (okay, maybe less than he'd like, but they exist, okay); what the fuck does Ambrose have? Ambrose is street trash. He doesn't even wrestle properly- he's scrappy and he telegraphs his moves and he doesn't fucking stay down. There's something wrong with his head (unfilled prescription in the backseat of his old car back in NXT; buried under bags and bags of- pills, and vaguely illegal looking powders), and who does he have? The only failure to come out of the Anoa'i wrestling dynasty. All those genetics and talent, all that family help, all those connections. Fucking wasted on a guy who'd rather hang around gutter trash, a Swiss Cena knockoff, and that crazy, grudge-holding freakshow from Evolution than the champion. 

Seth sits on the locker room bench, head in his hands, and Ambrose walks in. He's a little sweaty, but his hair's dried out and he looks- triumphant. He looks _happy_. What fucking right does he have? Ambrose starts to unwrap the tape from his hands and Seth- Seth can't do this. He gets up and Ambrose sees him and starts to open his mouth and that's when Seth slams him up against the lockers. His forehead hits the metal with a satisfying noise and Seth pulls on his stupid hair, seeing red.

"This doesn't make you any better than me," he says. "This doesn't make you as good as me. You're still fucking trash and you don't deserve to be here, you-"

Ambrose starts laughing, and Seth stops short (he'd forgotten how Dean laughed, wild and crazy and his teeth, too white for a former drug addict, sparkling like diamonds in the fluorescent glow of the locker room; Seth had forgotten how blond his hair looked under these lights, fuck, fuck, fuck). 

"I'm trash that beat you, though," he says. "And you're the champ, fucker. What the fuck does it say about you?" He grins, sharp, cutting. "I'm trash. I'm a sick guy. I know it. You don't fuckin' wanna accept that we're the same, Seth. We're the same side of one coin."

 _Everything that I am, you are too._ Seth covers his mouth with his hand, "Shut up," he says.  _Shut up, shut up, shut up._ He feels himself starting to grow hard against Ambrose's ass; it's true, what they say about old habits. And though Seth hates the guy, he can acknowledge that he is weirdly, uncomfortably sexual in his strangeness and his differentness. He's gotten skinnier and noticeably more flexible since their Shield days and it just makes him that slight bit more fuckable (Seth wants to push him to his knees and make him take it, make him want it, make him _hate_ and go pliant look at Seth the way he used to, fuck, like he'd hung the moon, like he was the brightest star  ~~like he looks at Roman~~ ).

Ambrose licks his hand and Seth jerks away; he's disgusting and Seth hates that it used to (still) turns him on. 

"You don't want me to shut up, though," says Ambrose, and his voice is gravelly and dark and Seth can hear that he's turned on, fuck. He turns around so his back is to the lockers, Seth's arms bracketing him in on both sides. 

"Yeah," says Seth, "Actually, I do," and he shoves Ambrose to his knees, and Ambrose knows what he wants. Ambrose mouths at him through his pants, and Seth slams him back against the lockers; breathing heavy, hair getting in his hooded eyes, he actually stays (that's so fucking hot, god damn it). Seth pulls his tights and briefs down and Ambrose gets back up on his knees and licks up his thighs, biting right near his dick. Then he actually puts the tip of it into his mouth; so hot and tight, fuck.

He teases Seth for a couple more minutes, and Seth puts his hand in his hair and shoves him onto his dick; Ambrose relaxes his jaw, allowing Seth to fuck his mouth. Seth thrusts in and out of his mouth, and Ambrose shows no sign of choking, no matter how hard and far back Seth pushes (Dean didn't talk about his past on the streets. Sometimes, though, he would look into back alleys in the car, a faraway look in his eyes); but Seth doesn't care, Seth wants to hurt him, Seth wants to make him moan and beg him to stop. Seth pulls out, achingly hard, breathing heavy and stilted.

"You gonna fuck me, bastard, or you gonna just stand there?" Ambrose grins, mouth red and slick with spit. Seth yanks him to his feet and then pulls him down onto his lap as he sits down on the ground; he grinds upward into Ambrose's still jean-clad ass, grabbing at it. Ambrose's dick is tenting his pants, and he buries his head into the space in between Seth's neck and his shoulder. His nails dig into Seth's bare back and he moans, loud and slutty.

"Fucking give it to me," Ambrose pants, then adds, snarling, " _champ_." He raises his head again, and he somehow manages to look unbearably smug and gorgeously wrecked at the same time. Seth fumbles with his belt, hisses, "fucking help me here, dipshit," and Ambrose just laughs again. Seth finally gets Ambrose's belt off, throwing it to the side. Ambrose stands up and shucks off his jeans; he's gone totally commando. Seth's honestly not surprised (he always used to under his Shield gear; Seth used to love being able to get at his dick so easy. In fact, he'd just loved the Shield gear. Tight tank top, studded belt, baggy pants that made his ass look like it was worth a million bucks).

Ambrose sits back down onto Seth's lap, grinding his ass on Seth's dick. Seth shoves a couple of fingers into his mouth and Ambrose sucks on them compliantly, wet and sloppy, spit going everywhere, but Seth couldn't care less (not true, not true) and he shoves to of them inside Ambrose , probably before he's ready, because Ambrose whines loudly and throws his head back.

Seth doesn't (he does) know why he's prepping him; maybe he's just a better person than he thought he was (liar), maybe he's not as angry anymore (liar, liar, he just can't hurt him because he doesn't really want to). Seth adds a third finger and Ambrose lets out another moan, moving back and fucking himself on Seth's fingers. Seth curls them up inside and scissors a little bit, looking for that spot- Ambrose moans again, louder than last time, yells "Fuck!" _There it is_ ,  Seth thinks, smug, taking his fingers out. Ambrose makes a small noise of protest at the loss.

"Fucking give it to me already," Ambrose pants, and Seth grins. There's one thing still bothering him though; he tugs at Ambrose's shirt and Ambrose raises his arms willingly, mouth so close to Seth's. The shirt slips off and Ambrose goes in for a kiss, biting his bottom lip. Seth thrusts upward, teasing with the idea of fucking him. Ambrose kisses him harder, tongue licking over his teeth. The kiss is razor-sharp and rough and not romantic at all; it's not even really sexy anymore. It's just desperation, pure and sincere.

Seth finally lines his dick up with Ambrose's hole and enters him, quick and dirty and hard. He doesn't wait for him to get used to it, that's not how this works. Ambrose keeps kiss-biting him, frantic and wanting as Seth thrusts into him. "Faster," he mumbles, "faster, come on, fuck," and Seth complies.

Seth brushes his prostate again, then aims in that direction. Ambrose throws back his head and moans louder and sluttier than ever, hand on his dick, jerking himself off. Seth keeps fucking him. Ambrose comes all over his stomach, then collapses onto Seth, panting. Seth thrusts into him a few more times before coming with a shout inside Ambrose; he wants to get him dirty (wants to cover him in Seth, make him his, he belongs to Seth ~~and not Roman,~~ damn it, he wants to mark and stain Dean until he's empty inside and there's just himself left. Just Seth).

They stay like that for a couple of seconds, breathing hard, before Seth pushes Ambrose off of him and into the floor. Ambrose just lies there, a small trickle of blood flowing out of the back of his head. 

Seth pulls his pants back up and goes to take a shower. The last thing he hears:

"You can deny it all you want," says Ambrose. "Fucking keep lying to yourself." He hears Ambrose get up, and he hears him punch the lockers, mumble "fuck," and then yell, " _Fuck!"_

Seth leaves. Seth leaves (all he ever does is leave) and he doesn't care (liar, liar). Seth leaves because he's better than this. He's wasting his time.

(drug addict, unfilled prescription in the backseat, former prostitute, son of a whore, street trash, born a loser, die a loser, fuck fuck fucking fuck same side of one coin. he's never going to get away. destiny. he's never going to be able to tear himself away.)

(he doesn't want to)

 

**Author's Note:**

> SHAMELESS!!!! I wrote this after I wrote a short story about bodies cause I was in a Mood.


End file.
